


The Dog with Human Tears

by CleotheDreamer



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: ADHD, AU by one line, Ambiguous but implied relationships, Bi-Curiosity, Fluff and Humor, Forbidden Forest, Gen, Hogwarts Fourth Year, Hogwarts Third Year, Hufflepuff Pride, Hufflepuffs being awesome, Implied Biracial Character, Let's not make any mary sue's please, One line in the entire series contradicts this fic, Polynesian Main Character, Realistic Original Character, Remus Lupin is a BAMF, Short Story, Sirius Black as Padfoot, Sirius Black is a BAMF, Sirius Black's time on the run, Sneaking Out, Some fanart sprinkled in, This could totally fit into canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-12-07 19:32:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18239276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CleotheDreamer/pseuds/CleotheDreamer
Summary: Evie Gardner was nothing special. She wasn't a war hero, nor was she an all that noticeable witch. So why on earth did the newly exonerated, recently deceased, war hero Sirius Black want her to attend the reading of his will?Apparently, befriending stray dogs could lead to unexpected consequences and maybe even save some lives.The slightest of AU's: What if someone noticed the big black dog by the forest and decided to do something about it? Even if that something was slightly unconventional and risked getting offed by a mass murderer in the middle of the night with no hope of rescue.





	1. Introductions

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, we've got Evie befriending a dog. That's it. That's basically the whole story. Oh, and exploring Hufflepuff dynamics a little bit and giving Sirius a little well-needed love.

Often, I look back and think of how so much could have changed if I hadn’t looked at the forest that day. What would have happened if I saw a bird swoop over the Black Lake to my left and glanced at that instead of the stray dog in the woods? What would have happened if I walked by a minute earlier, or even later? What would have happened if I had seen him and shrugged it off without a second thought? What would have happened if…

Well, it didn’t matter now.

I saw him and I chose my path. Life happened as it always did; I helped him and that really made all the difference, didn’t it?

***

I was not fond of rules, yet I was terribly afraid of getting in trouble. It was an ironic paradox that found me sneaking out for no good reason whilst also using the caution of a retired auror – and we’ve _all_ heard the stories about retired aurors and caution. 

I prided myself on the fact that I never got caught – not once and not by anyone– and that I remained of a solid moral standing in my own eyes. I often found myself sneaking out just to visit the house elves and bring them pebbles or other trinkets as gifts or to leave appreciation notes in random places to cheer people up; though I won’t lie and say it was from the goodness of my heart, but rather that my heart swelled with pride when I saw that someone benefited from something I did. It was actually a rather selfish pleasure to help others only for the sake of helping oneself.

But, I found it rather ironic that it was only the legendary troublemakers and tricksters who found themselves getting detentions for late night escapades. I don’t know if it was the ridiculous amount of paranoia I had whilst lurking around or that my motives for lurking didn’t offend the justice of the universe and said universe didn’t believe I needed punishing. Either way, my track record stayed clean and I remained the only Hufflepuff in all of Hogwarts history to be skilled in the art of stealth and thievery… I think.

Okay so _maybe_ my trips were less than moral at times –just maybe, mind you – but who can blame me for stealing already illegally obtained Butterbeer from the Slytherins. It was a pain in the arse to do it too so I was quite proud of myself afterwards.

So, when I saw a dog lurking by the forest in between classes and looking about as starved and pathetic as a dog could be, I thought to myself ‘now there’s a good reason to sneak out’. It looked bloody awful and I wagered it could keel over any moment if it didn’t eat immediately. Luckily for them/he/she/it (the **dog** ) I was heading to lunch and had a free period afterwards. Not that I would stay the whole lunch, no! That dog needed food and it needed it now and damn any dementors or staff members that got in my way. If they didn’t like me wandering the grounds then I’d just have to bring the dog into the castle to appease them. 

(Bloody wizards and their lack of regard for creatures that aren’t them. If I wasn’t one myself I’d think they were the ones in the Dark Ages they so like to paint the muggles in. So backwards and with superiority complexes larger than a mountain troll; of course there’s so many goblin rebellions and wars! Peace is a concept only made for those with humility and understa-

Right, rambling about the flaws of society isn’t going to feed the dog – or fix society. Quite disappointing, that.)

Anyways, my small group was already sat down by the time I arrived for lunch and Ernie Macmillan and Justin Finch-Fletchley were in an earnest debate on whether Zaccharias Smith’s actions of ignorance towards a certain muggle-born Gryffindor in Muggle Studies was warranting of a reprimand. As always, both were too forgiving in the matter. Based on what I heard, he didn’t deserve a talking to, he deserved a smack over the head. 

(Or a detention. A detention’s probably better than violence. Yep, detention for Smith. Wonder if I could snitch on him to Pomona…) 

Hannah and Susan were in the middle of an obviously – yet unintentionally – closed off conversation and I was stuck with the endearing company of one Wayne Hopkins.

I turned to my side and eyed him slyly (or what I thought was slyly) to see if he had noticed their obliviousness to our late arrivals. He caught my eye and I pointedly looked at the two pairs and smiled like a madman at them. I tried to mentally communicate something along the lines of ‘They didn’t even glance up when I sat down, the audacity! Oh, my wounded heart!’ but he just looked confused and slightly scared. 

I laughed and turned to my food, eating quickly, whilst also sharing the standard pleasantries with Wayne and eventually the rest of the group as they _finally_ noticed us. 

As I pilfered multiple dog friendly foods during lunch, Wayne began to suspect something. It wasn’t subtle – me nor him. His suspicion oozed off him in waves and he was obviously burning with curiosity and I was burning with the fact that I couldn’t keep secrets for shite. (I also loved to tell stories of my glorious heart and my crusades of peace and kindness but that’s beside the point.) So I cracked fast, like an egg on concrete (do Wizards have concrete…?) All it took was one “Oi, Evie, what in Merlin’s beard are you doing?” from Wayne and I was spilling everything.

“I’m stealing food for a stray dog I saw by the Forest. Please, please, please, please don’t tell Professor Sprout,” I blurted out quickly. He looked surprised and also slightly confused; he had obviously not been prepared for that answer.

“Wanna come with me? It’ll be fun and plus, it’s a _dog_! We ‘puffs have got a reputation of loving all things cute and cuddly to maintain! It would be a dishonor to our house to abandon this sad creature in its most dire time of need, would it not?” I continued, pleadingly.

“Yeah but it’s a _stray_ dog. How do we know of its cute and cuddliness when it lives by the bloody forest? It’s probably a blood thirsty beast by now.”

“You have a point,” I agreed, but I was stubborn, and it was a _dog_ so I pushed on, “ _but_ you didn’t see the poor thing. It was barely alive and seemed like it could hardly hold its own weight. If it doesn’t want us to touch it we can just leave the food for it to eat. Either way it needs food.”

I finished wrapping up my third cloth napkin-full of roast chicken, roast beef and an assortment of carrots and potatoes. No use giving anything like bread or sweets to a dog and these foods were the most common stuff I found on muggle dog food packages anyways – excluding the potatoes, but the thing deserved a treat for god’s sake. 

Wayne looked contemplative for a second before nodding and moving to stand as I shoved the knapsacks under my robes.

“God knows you’ll need someone to keep you safe from the dementors and who better than me. It would be my pleasure to escort you safely to your inevitable death by mauling.”

“ _Of course_ you can’t come unless you pretend it was your idea. It’s a wonder you’re not in Slytherin you arrogant bastard.”

He shoved me playfully but pulled a very offended looking face that made me instinctively mutter a “Sorry.” He grinned smugly and I groaned.

“Ughh, I forgot you can’t be offended. Why do I even try to be sarcastic with anyone? It’s either the person I’m joking with actually gets offended or they pretend to be offended and both make me feel just awful with myself. I can’t help it I’m bad at jokes. If you looked inside my head you’d know I am quite funny until my mouth gets involved,” I spurted out.

(Yep. _Spurted._ Not that weird at all.)

He looked amused at my struggles and sighed in exasperation. 

“I’d say your humor doesn’t come from the words you say but how badly you fumble them.”

I glared. 

(But seriously ouch. The truth of that aside, I was quite sensitive about my lack of social grace.)

“No seriously,” he continued at my look, “You’re funny because of your personality and how hard you try to be funny. You might not be good with words like me and my fellow Slytherins,” I laughed at that, “but you’re funny in your own right. You’re a silly faces kind of funny and bad attempts at wit kind of funny and it’s just as funny as the Weasley twins if you ask me”

I glared harder, though slightly mollified.

“Flattery will not save you now, serpent. You’ll die from the weight of your lies alone.”

“Wow. That was actually pretty good,” he looked disproportionately astonished at my words and my brief pride at the joke was replaced with a playful anger.

All mollification was gone and I chucked a carrot at his head. 

(It didn’t hit.)

***

By the time we had coaxed the black mutt out of the forest the bell struck noon and Wayne had to leave to rush to his 12:15 Arithmancy class which I wisely excluded from my schedule this year. I waved him goodbye and turned back to the dog, setting down one sack of food, pushing it forward and undoing its knot. I had until 2:30 before my next class and I planned to befriend the dog if it was the last thing I would do. 

(It wasn’t that dire but I have a flare for the dramatics.)

He looked at me and the food with more suspicion on his face than I’d ever thought a dog could have and I raised my hands in surrender. I turned sideways and set my arms to the side as well as placing my palms upwards and looked away. 

From the many, _many_ attempts at training our very skittish dog, the professionals told my family that this was apparently the most nonthreatening position to a dog. I found it rather creepy but it worked for my dog so maybe…

After a minute of feeling the dog’s eyes on me and a silent standoff of wills, he – as I could now see it was a he – walked over to the food. It was probably taking all his willpower not to throw his caution to the wind and scarf the food down right now. The fact that he hadn’t was honestly astonishing. 

I didn’t dare move, lest he be frightened, but I did try to assure him of my trustworthiness, even though I knew he wouldn’t understand. There’s something about animals that makes me blabber like a fool. I guess it’s something I picked up from my mum.

“It’s okay. The food’s safe, I’m not going to hurt you. You just seem hungry, aren’t you? You need to eat. It’s okay. Nothing’s going to hurt you.” 

I tried to keep as much affection and cooing out of my voice so as not to scare him, and instead used as even and assuring a voice I could manage. 

As I continued my meaningless reassurances, he sniffed at the food before tentatively licking at the chicken first. The amount of restraint was actually tugging at my heart now. There was no way a dog wouldn’t be pouncing on food like that if it wasn’t severely abused and probably through his food as well. No wonder he was a stray; I wouldn’t want to stay in a place like that either.

After what seemed like a lifetime of waiting, he nibbled at the chicken and finally ate something, no matter how small. Then, like he suddenly realized how much he needed it, he scarfed down the chicken and carrots in the napkin as quick as a blink. I started to smile before I realized he needed water too. Frowning, I considered trying to master my halfway completed aguamenti in the next hour before deciding against it and promising to bring water later.

He looked at me and for a second it felt like he could understand what I was saying, before it was gone and he was sniffing and nudging at my hand.

I was surprised at his sudden forwardness but kept still until it was clear that he would accept me petting him. I scratched at the side of his face and behind his ears until, soon, he was on his back with me rubbing his belly. The dips of his ribs were distressingly deep but I made sure to pet every inch of him (after cleaning him with a few _scourgifys_ of course). 

After about a half hour of relentless affection to an obviously touch starved dog, he started to nudge me in the direction of the forest. I was wary and didn’t move as he trotted towards the edge and laid down in ball of bones and fur. He was seated at the trunk of the outermost tree of the forest and I could run away easily if there was any danger approaching. In fact, I would probably be just as safe there as I was here, fifteen meters away, if only for the reason that I’d probably hear something coming if I was that close. 

Nodding, I moved towards the dog and sat beside him with my back towards the tree, facing the castle. I set my hand on his head and began carding my fingers through the long tangles that laid on his neck. He closed his eyes and seemed peaceful for the first time since I’d seen him. 

“You ought to have a name. I can’t keep calling you dog and I’d like to say we’ll meet again as much as we can to get food for you but it’s hard to be sure you’ll stay, isn’t it? You seem like a nice dog. I couldn’t understand why anyone would want to hurt a dog like you. Or any dog for that matter.”

He looked up at me with his strange grey eyes and he almost seemed mournful. I leaned forward and put my face into his scraggly fur and breathed in the comforting scent of dog and forest and home. Dog-smell was an oddly nostalgic thing to me that made my heart clench sentimentally. 

I gave him a kiss on his soft cheek and said lightly, comfortingly, “I rather like the name Patrick – no that doesn’t quite fit, though it is funny for a dog. You seem like you need some good Irish cheer, so I’d say Paddy works better. Plus, it’s better for a dog and less proper. Yes, I’d say I like Paddy, if it’s alright with you.”

As if he understood exactly what just happened, he pulled back to lick me in the face and gave a yip of pleasure. And yet, at that moment, I could have sworn there were tears swimming in the eerie sorrow of his eyes.


	2. Late Night Talks and a Lesson on Rambling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evie goes out to visit a dog. Oh, and it's night time. Plus, there's a murderer on the loose. And, she doesn't tell anyone. She may be slightly suicidal??

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to name him Paddy. I know it's cheesy and it's probably the most unrealistic thing in this entire fic, but I can't see her getting Snuffles, and Sirius just can't be anything besides Padfoot or Snuffles to me. I needed to get something slightly close to that so I could read it without cringing.  
> IMPORTANT! Evie goes on a few conversational rambles that are rather funny and build her character but are unnecessary to the plot. I put ////*****//// before and after the section to close it off if you didn't want to read it, but it's a really good part of the story so I recommend you still read it. It makes Evie more well rounded. Also, the art in this chapter is my own and made for this fic specifically.

<

***

I did not have any self-preservation instincts besides memorized book knowledge of survival tactics and the rambling creativity of an active imagination (as well as twitchy nerves due to human evolution but I’m talking about conscious instincts). Therefore, one could not blame me for flippantly ignoring the fact that Sirius Black was on the loose to, instead, sneak out to see a dog.

This being said, I did give it a passing thought and was more worried of getting caught by the teachers than him, honestly. The fact that I felt more fear at the thought of the disappointment on Professor Sprout’s and Dumbledore’s face rather than at the thought of death was concerning. The reach of my suicidal tendencies did not limit themselves with me, however. Because if one of my friends considered the actions I was currently taking I would shout them deaf and tie myself to them as a human shield if they wouldn’t listen.

So yes, my survival instinct was low, but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t jump at every single noise in the castle whilst I was on this suicide mission. It seemed my adrenaline was on board with my body in trying to keep me alive so that was something.

This base instinct was evident in my thudding heart and roiling stomach as I silently swung out of bed and swiped the second and third knapsack as well as a conjured lidded bowl of water out from under my bunk. After placing a feather-light charm on them, I balanced them on top of each other and carried them, precariously, under my robes.

If I didn’t know any better I would have thought that you could hear my heartbeat two dorms over and feel it through the rhythm it beat into the ground; but I did know better so I didn’t think that. 

(Much.)

As I slinked silently through the – thankfully – deserted common room, I threw the hood of my dark cloak over my head. The door of the cozy Hufflepuff common room was at the end of a short 5-meter tunnel of earth, but that tunnel was a godsend for muffling the noise of the door and hiding in until late night studiers went back to bed or fell asleep. 

After sneaking through the door and into the empty corridors, I kept to the wall. This would probably be the furthest I’d gone in a night and I wasn’t taking any chances. Getting caught tonight would be dreadfully mortifying. 

Luckily for me – as not many Hufflepuffs would appreciate this – the corridors around our common room were always blissfully empty and unpatrolled. The teachers really had too much faith in us badgers. Our motto was hardworking, just, and fair (and kind and loyal and protective), not rule following, spineless saints; no offense to the Fat Friar of course.

I only had one patrolled corridor to go through to reach the outside where I would be blissfully free from most eyes besides Hagrid’s and the occasional professor’s looking out a window. But considering my black cloak and moonless night I had the comfort that it would be very hard to spot me even if someone was trying to. 

After practically sprinting on soft feet moving from heel to toe (because I’ve found that’s the quietest way of walking) through the gloriously vacant corridor, I shimmied through the thin, glassless, floor height windows and ran as fast as I could whilst also remaining in a ridiculously low crouch.

I wasn’t even sure if my self-taught stealth maneuvers were beneficial to me or pure rubbish, but I wasn’t going to stop using them now.

Once I reached the edge of the forest, I sat down and called softly to Paddy. I hoped he was somewhere nearby but if not I would just leave the food and water in anticipation of him returning and finding it. If not, I was stopping by at the end of lunch to drop more off anyways.

Surprisingly – _very_ surprisingly – the dog came out of the woods almost immediately after I arrived. It was unnerving and felt almost as if he’d been waiting for me. I shook the thought from my head and smiled warmly at him.

“Brought you some water this time.”

I sat down by the closest tree to the edge and beckoned him over.

“All right?” I asked

I was trying to have a conversation with a dog. So what? Bugger off it isn’t that weird. Everyone in my family does it so it can’t be that weird. 

(But it is that weird, Evie. You just don’t care and are going to treat this dog like a long-lost friend because you’re weird like that and you do it with every animal and that’s okay.)

And that’s how I got to discussing my life with a dog. 

I told him about the day I found out about magic and about my excitement and how I had always felt like I was an outcast and how I felt I had had a brand-new world I might be able to belong to. And how I was so very heartbroken the first time someone called me mudblood and how I learned fast how very backwards and hostile this new world was. I told him how the muggles everyone degraded were more advanced than they were in so many aspects but that wizards were blind to their prejudice.

I told him that no matter which world I was in there was always so much hatred and division and my 14-year-old heart couldn’t take the sadness that came with it. I told him that I wanted to fix it all and make everything fair and right and kind but that it couldn’t happen because even I wasn’t always fair and right and kind and I couldn’t expect that of others and how frustrated that made me. 

So, I told him that I wished that we could at least make a world where the meanness and the cruelty wasn’t based on labels from birth. That maybe that world still wouldn’t be perfect but at least it wouldn’t have meaningless oppression and suffocating hatred. 

I told him that I was still odd for a wizard and that it was because of something I only recently found in a Muggle psychiatry book that made me recognize that I would never be normal anywhere. About how ADHD was so seemingly innocuous yet it stunted my social growth so badly that basic communication was often confusing and how I was unable to express myself properly because of my racing thoughts. I told him about my adversity to the word annoying and how people used to make fun of me with it. About that word being the sharpest insult to my heart and soul and how it didn’t make any sense at all: how very painful that word was. 

I told him about the wonders of Hufflepuff. About how the kindness and the support of my friends made all the hurt and pain of this world worth it. About how they washed away all the backwardness of it all with one soothing word and warm pumpkin pasties from the kitchen. About how no one in Hufflepuff believed in the blood purity nonsense except maybe Zacharias Smith but that’s okay because he’s an arse anyway. About how my friends stood up for me when they found out what Pansy Parkinson and her lackeys said about me. About loyalty and friendship and the happiness that radiated off the walls of the common room and how it was always sunny. 

******

(‘And oh, there was this one time that I was the first to get the charm down in the class. And how proud I was of it! We shared it with Slytherin too, and you should have seen their faces, Paddy! How horribly satisfying that was indeed to see the looks on some of their faces that me, a muggleborn, could beat them! Oh Paddy, it was brilliant! I don’t even think Slytherin’s a bad house but boy do they have some bullies…. ‘

‘I could go on about how frustrating it is when people underestimate us Hufflepuffs. you know? It’s codswallop if you ask me. None of our house traits make us any less capable or smart so I don’t get it. I, for one, am proud to be a Hufflepuff! Was that a snort Paddy! I see you have some house biases, you mangy mutt…’

‘That Potter’s got it awful, you know? Just awful. He’s always being accused of something or being chased by admirers and now, murderers! It’s just right foul luck I’d say. I personally think it’s pretty cool he can talk to snakes but some people are still freaked out about that one. I mean come on, it’s not like he’s some evil dark lord reincarnate or something. He’s best friends with a muggleborn and his parents died fighting You-Know-Who. I have a hard time believing he’d go on a blood purist murder spree….’

‘Did I tell you what the hat said when I was sorted? He said I was brilliant, Paddy! Brilliant he said! But he said I could never fit into Ravenclaw. That my brilliance was purely imagination and fantasy and that I didn’t really have a thirst for knowledge that would put me in Ravenclaw. But he still said I was brilliant and I couldn’t be happier about it….’ 

‘I think I like girls Paddy. Is that normal? Nobody ever talks about that and I’m not quite sure it exists but I feel something strange talking to girls – the same thing I get with the guys I like – and I could swear it feels just like a crush. Am I so odd in both worlds? I don’t know if it’s a bad thing but nobody ever talks about it so it must be weird. I’m just so tired of feeling weird Paddy…’

‘If liking the same gender is normal than I’d swear Malfoy’s got a thing for Potter with how crazy he acts over him. Just last week he was…’

‘Why is it that muggles have gone to the moon but wizards haven’t even considered it? And the purebloods still think I’m lying…’ 

‘I swear Hannah and Susan go to the bathroom together with how attached at the hip they seem…’

‘I would probably die if I got a detention…’

‘Just the other day Ernie said that Potter got a detention for…’

‘Moaning Myrtle tried to attack me with a broom because I called her pretty and she thought I was lying…’

‘Do you know why she’s a ghost Paddy? She seems rather new…’

‘Are you still listening Paddy? You can fall asleep, you know? I wouldn’t mind….’

‘You’re a very odd dog, Paddy. I think if you were human, we’d get along very well…’)

******

And he listened, and listened, until I was sure that I only had two hours to get back to the dorms.

If it makes you feel any better about the fact that this info dump may be considered animal cruelty, he seemed content to listen and didn’t seem to want to run away from my rambling. 

(Which was nice ‘cause it would be embarrassing if a dog got so bored he would walk away from my life story and personal emotional rants.)

Instead he laid his head on my lap and stared up at me with attention that seemed almost hominine as I alternated between gesticulating wildly and petting him slowly. 

He seemed content with that and I relaxed so much I almost fell asleep. By that point, I really needed to head back and said goodbye with the promise of returning for lunch and hopefully after dinner as well; either before or after curfew.

He gave an almost imperceptible nod as I stood up before plodding off like he knew exactly what I said. 

He was a strange dog. A very strange and very sad dog indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you read through those rambles, yes I made a Drarry joke. No, it wasn't serious. Please don't read into it. Thank you!


	3. Sleepless Nights lead to Life-Threatening Herbology Lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some poisonous plants, some badass Lupin, and some socializing between Hufflepuffs. All is well, and the causes of imminent death are not limited to escaped mass murderers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Possible flirting of underage characters, but that's normal teenage behavior so what can I say?

I did not risk sneaking out after curfew twice in a row, but Wayne and I did bring him more food and water after lunch.

We were only able to pet him for a few minutes before we had to rush off to the next class of joint Herbology with the Gryffindors. 

At least that was a class we had to pay attention in or I would have fallen asleep immediately. As it was, I did drift off a few times and Wayne really did most of the work for me.

“All right, Evie?”

“Fine, fine,” I mumbled groggily, “just, um, just tired is all. You?”

“Fine, fine!” he said much too cheerily, “just worried is all!”

His eyes crinkled as he smiled so wide it seemed his face couldn’t fit it all. I turned back to run my hands through the soil, briefly considering if throwing it in my face would have the same effect as a splash of cold water.

“I take back what I said about you – you being our resident Slytherin that is. You’re too cheerful and brash. Sure, you’ve got great conversational skills and a heap of cunning but you’re more Gryffindor than Slytherin any day with how loud you are. Mischief does not belong to just snakes but felines as well, you know?”

He laughed loudly – oh so very loudly.

“How you have so much to say while also falling asleep arms deep in Snargaluffs is quite impressive. However do you manage it?” 

“I don’t even know myself, but – **wait** , did you say Snargaluffs?”

“Why yes, love, I did.”

“And you let me fall asleep in front of it?!”

“I thought you knew.” 

(That voice told me he knew I didn’t know, the prat.)

“I didn’t!”

“Well, what did you think it was?” he asked with an aura that was just too calm to be natural.

“A stump? I don’t know?”

“My goodness, I am impressed at this level of obliviousness. I really ought to categorize it.”

“Not funny, I could have died!”

“But it wouldn’t have been my fault and that’s all that matters.”

“What are we even doing with Snargaluffs? That’s sixth year stuff,” I asked choosing to ignore his blaringly nonchalant attitude.

“Ah, yes. You fell asleep during her briefing too I see.”

His voice was mocking with a hint of endeared.

(But still mocking.)

“I wasn’t asleep I was just out of it,” I snapped

“Falsities will not sway my opinion that you were fast asleep and you know it,” he almost sung the words.

“Fine, but still: Snargaluffs?” I huffed questioningly.

“We are merely observing them and diagramming their parts. Quite entertaining, is it not?” he smiled mischievously at me.

“Quite,” I said, without a hint of agreement in my voice, “but am I to understand,” I hissed the words through clenched teeth, “that I should have been drawing a diagram this entire time and you didn’t even tell me?!”

“Oh, but I thought you knew,” he said, his voice so thick with sarcasm I could cut it with a knife.

(Does that metaphor only work with tension, or am I reading too much into it?)

“Don’t bullshit me now Mr. ‘You just told me that you knew I was asleep’ of course you knew that I didn’t know. You used that fact to your advantage, or amusement, or _whatever_ and now I’m suffering for it, which was probably the goal of this, this –this heinous plan of yours!”

“You know what the best part is?”

I raised my eyebrow in question as he finished off his admittedly impressive diagram.

“What?” I asked warily.

“We can leave when we’re done with our diagram. So that leaves you alone with no one to wake you for the next hour as I get to enjoy that time with blissful freedom.” 

I gaped at him in anger and shock. He left me in the dust without support what else was I supposed to feel. Humor? No.

Though it would have been funny if it wasn’t me at the brunt of it, but I wouldn’t admit that to him. Wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. 

(No, I _couldn’t_ give him the satisfaction.)

“You slimy snake! I take it all back, you, you – you git! You’re a snake to your core, you sneaky little bastard!”

He ignored me in favor of sauntering – _**sauntering!**_ – to the Professor’s desk and dropping off the parchment before passing me on the way back.

“Cheerio my dear badger! I can only hope to see you in an hour. If not I’ll assume you’ve died a horrible, painful death.”

He then gave a cheeky wave and walked out of the room leaving me fuming and staring at a blank piece of parchment. 

Painful death indeed.

(Professor Sprout hadn’t even noticed his treachery, but it was probably for the better as she would’ve docked points for our, admittedly, loud and off topic banter.)

***

When I found Wayne later, it was in the library surrounded by Ernie and Justin but absent of Hannah and Susan. I had only barely managed to finish my diagram within the last hour and was still fuming from Wayne’s betrayal. 

Stalking over to the table with the meanest glower I could manage, I plopped into the seat in front of him, gracefully spilling my books onto the desk.

“Bugger,” I growled as my potions textbook flopped onto the ground pathetically.

“You look narked,” Ernie observed oh so cleverly and eloquently and stupidly and–

“Of course I am,” I snapped, “Wayne here can tell you all about it.”

“What’s going on?” Justin asked, eyes flickering between the two of us searchingly.

“Ooh, did you two get into a lover’s spat?” Ernie joked, before immediately sobering at my indignant expression, “Is everything all right Evie? I didn’t mean it, I swear. I was just trying to ease some tension, honest.”

He held a hand to his heart in an attempt to appear placating and I sighed. I didn’t want to be a whinging jerk just because I was tired.

“I just got awful sleep is all and Wayne here, um,” I rubbed my eyes wearily, trying to put together the words, “he made a point, no, he uh, capitalized on it? Yeah, he exploited my exhaustion for his amusement.”

“Well when you say it like that it sounds like I’m a terrible person.”

“You are,” we all chimed in together and I smiled at Wayne’s affronted face, a few of my ruffled feathers combing over with the look.

“Well now I’m just being attacked,” he then raised a finger to his face, a thoughtful look in his eyes, “but, now that you mention it, I guess I really am terrible.”

Then he grinned like a Cheshire cat and said with a glee bordering on madness, “And I couldn’t be happier about it.”

We rolled our eyes and laughed at his antics. I was amused at how easily I could forgive him when he acted a fool, but I was happy for it. Anger was my least favorite emotion after all.

(And I wasn’t quite as tired anymore, so that was a bonus.)

***  
The four of us ran to Defense Against the Dark Arts together and we’re nearly panting with the exhaustion it took to make it on time. Ernie and Justin sat in the seats behind Hannah and Susan, who were predictably early and already in deep discussion. Wayne and I took up the desk beside them, with me falling ungracefully into my seat with a ‘thunk’ of body, books and bag. I immediately slouched on top of the desk, arms splayed in a dramatic display of exhaustion. 

And yet, Wayne ignored this and engaged with the half-asleep beast that was Evie Gardner

“How’s the dog?” he asked, blatantly ignoring my struggles.

“Ungghh.”

“Alright then, how’s the stray?”

Right when I was about to retort with a very hot tempered and protective remark on how Paddy was no longer a stray, the footsteps of our professor reached our ears.

“What’s this about a stray? Stray what exactly?” Professor Lupin asked, standing beside our desk tiredly, but with a commanding tone all the same. It was obvious he was expecting to have to reprimand us for something.

I practically blanched. We couldn’t just tell the Professor that we’d been feeding a stray dog by the side of the forest with a mad serial killer on the loose, but we couldn’t lie to him. I couldn’t lie! Not only do I suck at lying, but it’s wrong and he’d catch me and I’d be so guilty about it even if he didn’t and – aghh, he’s a teacher! I couldn’t lie to a teacher!!

Luckily for me, Wayne did not have that problem (and, just how did he get into Hufflepuff in the first place?) and was also aware that we could not divulge this secret to the man.

“Oh, I’m just insulting Evie’s dog, sir. Real mangy mutt, I wouldn’t bother with him if I were her but, alas, her heart is too big and she’s let the beast in, no longer caring for her friends to instead spend her precious youth with the rascal,” he said with a joking grin on his face, winking at the professor halfway through as if he was talking about a boy I was in love with – Oh Merlin! 

That’s exactly what he meant! 

I slapped a hand to my bright red face, sliding it down slowly in my shame and glaring daggers at Wayne once my hand was past my eyes. He only shrugged with a mocking frown, but there was a smug gleam to his eye.

Okay. Sure, the kid _valued_ fairness and honesty, and he truly was hardworking and loyal (in his own way), but what Wayne _really embodied_ was cunning and acting skills to put Broadway members to shame.

He could patent his lies with how seamless they were.

The now distinctly uncomfortable professor shuffled in place before relaxing a little and casting an amused glance at my mortification, before staring pointedly at us and saying, “I do hope you two work this out.” 

He was practically cackling inside, I could tell! 

(The jerk was cackling I tell you, cackling!)

He began to walk away before looking over his shoulder with a smile (or was it a smirk).

“Jealousy isn’t good for growing minds, Mr. Hopkins. Best relieve the issue soon before it does any damage,” he finished with a raised eyebrow at Wayne, and all my embarrassment was forgotten to the splash of red across his pale face and his spluttering astonishment.

He quickly composed himself and flashed a slightly shaky grin to Lupin, who was already starting the lecture.

“That was brill,” I whispered, slightly reverently.

“Yeah,” his tone mirrored mine as we met each other’s eyes and grinned hugely before I broke out into a (sadly very loud) laugh and struggled to control myself.

I slapped a hand over my mouth as I clutched my side, attempting to quiet and the Professor looked pitying for a moment before docking a point and I sobered up immediately.

(Okay, I may have still let a few chuckles out randomly, but I was composed enough to not lose any more points which is all that really mattered.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lupin is a Marauder! I repeat: LUPIN IS A MARAUDER! He's a smarmy fellow and you cannot convince me that he did not enjoy pranking his students, no matter how small.


	4. Tear Stains or Wet Dog Fur?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evie is getting in too deep, and apparently, dogs can cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorty but a goodie.

After the disaster that was Defense Against the Dark Arts, I stopped briefly in the Great Hall for food – for both me and Paddy - and slunk off to the forest like a criminal. Wayne opted to stay for dinner and I didn’t blame him; the weather was absolutely dismal.

I gave the lamest half-truth I could as an excuse – muttering about having to talk with a friend – before scampering away so I wouldn’t have to answer any questions.

Wayne smirked at my retreating form like the cat that ate the canary and I ignored it in favor of the nasty rain storm outside.

(Merlin! I was getting too attached to this dog. Going out for him in this weather. How absolutely mad?)

To be truthful, I knew I was spending a fair amount of time with the creature. It wasn’t a bad idea or anything but it was strange. I felt the need to do more than just feed him and found myself coming more than necessary and for longer than needed. I felt almost connected to him, especially after that first night.

When I reached the forest edge I was unsurprised to see two grey orbs peering out at me through the darkness. It was a little creepy and I was starting to think about looking into magical creatures to see if he was some sort of spirit dog or something else equally strange. He also could be a familiar but that seemed too much like wishful thinking so I dismissed it.

(Though a girl could always hope.)

I hurried under the shade of the first tree and sat at the first semi dry spot I could find in its roots, motioning for Paddy to come near as I pulled out the food. 

The denseness of the canopy was astonishing as hardly a single drop of rainwater touched us while we ate silently.

Paddy finished his meal much quicker than me and sat his head on my lap as I ate my make-shift roast chicken sandwich. He curled close to me for warmth and I was glad that his body against my thigh was more than bones and skin. There was the beginning of coiled muscles stretched taut on his back and the swell of his stomach was slightly visible. It was progress, however small. 

Truthfully, I was both surprised and impressed when he didn’t even attempt to beg for my food. It was rather sad when I thought about it. A normal starving dog would take as much as he could; try to survive to the best of their ability. And yet, this dog did not. I didn’t know if this confirmed that he wasn’t an ordinary dog or if it was an ingrained response in the abused creature but it was a sobering thought either way. Because if it was abuse than he was probably scared I’d...well he was probably scared I might do something too.

“What happened to you, Paddy?” I asked, quietly; a hint of mournfulness in my voice.

He looked at me with miserably sorrowful eyes for a moment before he began to cry. The tears of a dog spilled onto my lap like liquid lyrics of a tragedy I couldn’t understand. He let out pitiful whimpers, but otherwise remained eerily quiet and still. 

It was a horrific sight – to see a dog cry. It felt as if some wretched spirit clung to me, turning my air into frozen needles of ice that punctured my stinging chest. The air felt heavy and thin as the spirit clenched my lungs in a frigid, tight fist. My own eyes were prickling at the corners but, whether they were tears of sadness or fear, I did not know. 

Seeing a dog cry sets off a primal instinct in oneself that screams ‘wrong!’ over and over, like a morbid alert to crudely explain that something horrifically, irrefutably, inexplicably bad has happened. It was, to put it mildly, an incredibly macabre experience.

I knew it was possible and a distant, less humane part of mine had believed it might be interesting. 

(And, I was right, of course. But it wasn’t just interesting, it was pathetically dreadful to experience. It was horrible, atrocious, torturous, terrifying, chilling, abominable, abhorrent, grisly, ominous – 

Sorry. I just thought you ought to know that there aren’t quite enough words to explain how terribly awful it was.)

I pulled him close, dinner in a forgotten pile in the mud, my stomach too laden with lead to digest anything. 

We sat like that for what felt like hours, sobbing into each other like we were old friends sharing the grief of a lifetime. To my surprise, it was only a few minutes later when we pulled back to face each other’s eyes – his still as haunting and empty of happiness as before. 

He licked at my cheeks and despite the tears still dripping down my face and his, I laughed. I laughed and he barked and it was as though nothing so strange and mysterious had ever happened or ever could. It was a strange semblance of normal that felt paradoxical to reality.

But the memory of his crystal tears blazed through my head and I remembered that it wasn’t quite normal at all. 

It began to feel like we had both just experienced something unspeakably profound. It was as though the moment was otherworldly.

I walked back to the dorm with tear stains drying on my face.


	5. Lemon Drops and Summer Vacation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evie is having a dilemma. Albus Dumbledore offers help, but apparently, dogs can fly?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some more of this fluff, 'cause why not?

Paddy and I grew closer from then on out. Where I had been planning to only sneak out one night a week to see him, I instead snuck out almost every other night and talked with (to?) him for a few hours.

I took to napping with him in my free period and lunch to catch up on sleep. 

I still attended dinner with my friends and left only five to ten minutes early to deliver him food, but he always appreciated the brief visits nonetheless. 

I struggled through my homework and classes half asleep most days but, surprisingly, my grades hardly dropped. Wayne helped where he could and I could often hyper focus on my homework to complete it quickly – although not as eloquently as before.

Paddy was still dreadfully underweight after almost four weeks of feeding him – a testament to how thin he was when I first saw him. His eyes were the teeniest bit brighter and I could almost detect a hint of something soft leaking in amongst the hollow pupil.

It was still dreadfully sad to look into his eyes and I often wondered how a dog could be so sorrowful.

I spent as much of my free time as I could at the library researching magical creatures and familiars and finding nowt.

Familiars were essentially a myth and didn’t actually exist in any documented form. Because some magical creatures were more intelligent and emotional than nonmagical creatures they often formed stronger bonds but that didn’t make them familiars. 

But, unlike wizarding cats which could have relations to kneazles or even be kneazles themselves, wizarding dogs were not more intelligent than the average dog. Also, the only magical dog species was crups which were in the form of a Jack Russel terrier. The big black dog that was Paddy was definitely not a crups. 

I eventually gave up the search in favor of getting my homework done earlier.

Wayne hardly came along to see Paddy anymore, knowing he couldn’t win him with me around, but he did drop off some breakfast for him almost every morning at my insistence.

(Mainly so I could sleep in.)

When he did come, he often tried to play fetch with Paddy but the dog almost always came back to me instead of Wayne so he gave up soon after.

Wayne insisted it was because I smelled and tasted of roast beef rather than that the dog liked me better.

It didn’t help that Paddy licked me excitedly whenever he could.

It was nearly three months later when I was faced with what exactly would happen when I left Hogwarts for the summer. My family and I were going to the Pacific Islands to visit my mum’s side of the family and were staying there the whole summer. I could bring him easily enough, but how would I get him there? I couldn’t take him on the train back and I couldn’t expect my mom to accept a random dog in my home, but I could mail her and ask. And if I told Dumbledore that I’d been caring for him he might understand and allow me to use the floo to send him somewhere we could pick up, like Wayne’s house.

Yes, that’s what I’d do.

I wrote my letter that night, but I was still unsure how to confront Professor Sprout and Professor Dumbledore of the whole matter.

(How exactly does one go about telling teachers of wandering dementor infested grounds near the forest for a stray?

…. Ah, yes that’s exactly what I’d do.)

***

Convincing my mother was harder than convincing the Professors. 

I approached Professor Sprout with the assistance of Wayne, ready to be punished when instead she started waving her arms wildly as if to cool herself down squealing, “Oh, my little cubs are growing up so well.”

Wayne and I explained the situation very generally and skirted around most of the incriminating details. We said things such as, ‘we go together’ (as we sometimes do) and excluded details of the times that I’d gone and how close to the forest we were and other things, but overall, we were honest. 

She told us she’d set up a meeting with Professor Dumbledore as soon as possible. My mother had yet to agree on us taking him home but either way I wanted to inform him of the dog so that he could care for him in the months while I was away.

The walk to his office was long and filled me with dread but I persisted and kept up a strong front – that is, until we reached the gargoyle and my composure crumbled to dust.

Sweating nervously, I wrung my hands together as me and Wayne sat beside Professor Sprout in the fluffy armchairs in front of a large desk. The office, itself, was spacious but was cluttered with an absurd amount of silver instruments with seemingly no purpose. 

The headmaster was sitting behind the desk, eyes twinkling and hands steepled under his chin. I felt rather silly sitting there beside Wayne, and felt I ought to give him a small bow or some nod of recognition based on how small and insignificant I was feeling in his presence.  
I refrained from doing so and was rather relieved when he started talking. 

“Would you like a lemon drop?” he asked, and I almost collapsed with relief at the geniality of the man. At least he didn’t seem the judgmental and angry sort – he never had, but I had never really talked to him in person before so I could never say for certain.

After we had all declined the candy, him popping one in his mouth happily, he turned his attention back to us.

“What brings you here my dear, Pomona?”

“Well, I’ll leave that to Ms. Gardner and Mr. Hopkins, Professor.”

I gulped. So much for letting us off easy, Professor Sprout. Thankfully, Mr. ‘Wayne Word-Smith Wonder Hopkins’ took the cue and, explained in my stead.

(Sometimes it works wonders to have such great – snakey – friends.)

“Well, you see, Professor. Me and Evie here noticed a stray dog on the grounds and, well, we’ve been feeding him scraps when we have the time. We’ve gotten rather attached, you see, and so we thought that maybe Evie here could take him home for the holidays with some assistance on your part if her parents agree. If not, though, we still wanted to notify you of him because we thought you might be able to find someone to help feed him over the summer. Or, maybe even have someone house him if you felt so inclined. We just wanted you to know, is all.”

If possible, it seemed Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled even more at this bit of news and he smiled pleasantly at Wayne and I from his seat.

“Well, Pomona, I can say you’ve raised some wonderful students. Of course, we could help transport him if necessary and Hagrid would be delighted to feed him and house him, if Ms. Gardner’s parents are not inclined to take in a new pet. I only wonder what his name is?”

I blinked, a little shocked at his easygoing nature and slightly baffled that that was his only question.

“Um, Patrick sir. But we, uh, we call him Paddy. It’s, uh, Irish?” I winced. That couldn’t have been more awkward.

He just chuckled quietly though and said, “Yes, I do believe it is.”

And with that, the first time I ever talked to Albus Dumbledore ended and left me questioning both my sanity and his.

My mum vehemently shot down any of my attempts at persuading her to bring a random dog home and, so, we assumed that Paddy would be staying with Hagrid over the summer. And, if he wouldn’t leave the forest, Hagrid said he would leave out food and water behind his pumpkin patch for him.

All in all, I was rather satisfied that nothing could go wrong for Paddy and I held onto a hope that he’d still be there when I got back. So, I was not expecting it when a few weeks later I was sitting outside reading on my Aunt’s porch in Papua New Guinea and saw two twinkling grey eyes staring back at me. 

(I may, or may not have screamed a little.)

That summer saw me feeding Paddy scraps behind my mother’s back as I tried not to question how on Earth he got there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Considering Sirius was on the run in the books and went to the Tropics, I thought Papua New Guinea would be a great place for him to hide out, considering my character's mother is Polynesian and they could visit her family there. Of course, since Evie is in Papua New Guinea for only one month of the summer, he'll move around after she goes back to Britain. Evie's father is Welsh, but that's not really important so yeahhhh.


	6. Badges, Beloveds, and Brutality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evie and Paddy share their fourth year until tragedy tears them apart without a single goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I'd date Wayne. The kid's a natural at life, can he teach me his secrets?   
> So, this means we've got some underage romance, but not really. Implied?? Yes. Physical, actual, real romance? Nope.

Fourth year brought Paddy back to the forest as well as the Triwizard tournament and all the drama that came with having two Hogwarts champions.

The question of whether Potter really put his name in the goblet was actually bothering me a great deal more than it should have. I was, by nature, a very curious person and I was inclined to believe that he may have done it himself. But, with the behavior of the staff and the other champions I was not so sure.

After all, Potter had pretty rotten luck based on what I could tell. 

Either way, I was not inclined to wear badges and campaign against him until I knew for certain. On top of my uncertainty, Cedric Diggory, Hufflepuff champion himself, told us not to. Another strike of favor to Potter. Oh, that and the fact that he was fourteen.

The other Hufflepuffs were not as unsure as I except for the girls, but we had always fancied ourselves more rational than the boys so it was no surprise when the boys started wearing POTTER STINKS badges. I’d often remind them of previous years (well, every year really) because looking back on our history with him, we usually skydived to (negative) conclusions and he would still save our arse by the end of the year. 

(Looking at you Justin and Ernie.)

Maybe it was this trice unpaid life debt the Hufflepuffs owed him that made me wary of jumping to conclusions, or maybe, it was that it seemed slightly fishy to me that a 14-year-old beat an age line made by Dumbledore himself. But, either way, I did not know what to make of Potter and his involvement. 

And, oh Merlin, did I want to _know_. I also wanted to trust the guy, and he seemed a pretty sad sight, but still, it was fishy. _And_ Hufflepuff was sore that the Hogwarts champion spot was being overshadowed by the Gryffindors as per usual, so it was no surprise that there was so much animosity towards him.

My general apathy did not endear me to either side, but I did support Cedric above all others, because Hufflepuff Pride, that’s why!

Anyways, that year was a lot busier and there was a lot less time to visit Paddy. So, I did what any sane person would do. I created a schedule. 

Hagrid helped a lot with feeding him so I really just came to study with him during my free periods and, sometimes, when I needed a break after dinner. 

I still snuck out, but it was usually only once or twice a week and wasn’t always as long as before. 

Wayne still had yet to endear the dog to him. 

Wayne also stuck to his theory that this was because I smelled and tasted of deli meat. I stuck to the theory that dogs can sniff out good, honest people and that he could smell Wayne’s bullshitting from a mile away.

While Wayne was indignant, stating, “what a load of tosh!” Paddy nodded his head vigorously in my direction.

Sometimes, he was a very strange dog.

The day Wayne came with a POTTER STINKS button seemed to be the day Paddy lost all of his minimal affection towards him. 

I had long ago started transfiguring sticks into tennis balls for Paddy to play with and Wayne and I often played fetch with Paddy when we shared a free period. The dog had only returned the ball a handful of times to Wayne and usually when I was preoccupied. This day, however, Wayne had finally worn that fateful badge on his robes. Apparently, Paddy did not like that.

He seemed fine at first, until Wayne knelt down to greet him and the badge was in plain sight. Once the thing flashed in the sun, Paddy growled and attempted to bite it off the robe, viciously chomping his incisors at the button.

Wayne yelped and fell onto his backside, and Paddy let out what sounded like a barking laugh.

“What in the bloody hell was that for, you mangy mutt?!” Wayne exclaimed, angrily.

I, on the other hand, was practically rolling in laughter as it was obvious to me that Paddy hadn’t meant any real bodily harm to Wayne. Wayne did not find it as funny, but eventually let out a grudging smile. 

This incident led me to believe that the fates were against Potter slander, unless it was from themselves, of course. Wayne, on the other hand, seemed convinced that it had nothing to do with the badge, and everything to do with the “evilness” of the dog.

Needless to say, Paddy was rather smug about scaring Wayne and jump scared him a few more times that evening. I honestly thought the dog might have understood everything perfectly. Wayne said I was paranoid.

***

Come winter time, and even my braving of the weather for Paddy was harder to accomplish than before. I came as often as I could, but mustering the courage and time was difficult. At least with the Yule Ball that year I was staying for Christmas (with the hope of a certain boy asking me to come with him) and could make it up to him over the break and introduce the whole Hufflepuff fourth year to him through a scheduled snowball fight by the forest. Wayne thought that that was a bad idea, but I insisted heartily until he gave in.

When I told Paddy of my worries on getting a date two weeks before Winter Break, he seemed to raise the skin above his eye like it was an eyebrow. It was strange, but made me feel like he was silently judging me and I sighed in response. If a dog could tell that my romantic issues were fickle and unreasonable, I should too.

In fact, not more than a week later, Paddy got to witness my romantic endeavors first hand. Wayne had come with me to help feed Paddy one snowy afternoon, and he took my hand in his with astonishing confidence. I could tell he was nervous when he gave me a sheepish smile, but, all the same, it was impressive how blasé he could be in everything he did. 

Whilst I was a bumbling idiot, Wayne was calm, cool, and collected. It was nice to not be expected to try harder with him, as it seemed that my clumsy social behavior is exactly what made him like me in the first place. So, it was with an ease unparalleled that we fell into such a close friendship in the first place.

When we reached the forest’s edge and Paddy came stumbling out, we set up a blanket and sat down, using multiple warming charms on the area. Apparently unaware of the mood, Paddy sat determinedly in between us and refused to let us do more than hold hands. 

Wayne was rather disgruntled but even I could tell he was amused. 

“Why do you think he hates me?” he asked, half joking and half serious. It seemed he was almost a little hurt by the dog’s obvious favoritism.

I sighed, and rubbed Paddy in between his ears, “I don’t think he hates you at all. In fact, I think he just likes messing with you. It’s just so funny to see you get ruffled by him and I think he’s got a great sense of humor for a dog.”

“You act like he can understand us.”

“Sometimes I think he can,” I whispered with a smile.

After a brief pause, he said, solemnly, “Sometimes, I think so too,” before he broke out into a large grin and swiveled his head towards me mischievously. 

“So, Evie. About the Yule Ball…”

***

Paddy was still a rather slim dog, but his ribs were no longer sharp against his skin and his stomach had a soft swell rather than its initial concave. All in all, Paddy seemed to be in much better health than when I originally found him.

Spring was coming in the steady rains and budding flowers, and Paddy seemed to want us to play in the forest more and more. The third task was fast approaching and I was getting more excited by the day. 

So, of course, I stocked up on my Cedric Diggory merchandise and set out to decorate a dog. He, in turn, did not appreciate it.

I almost gave up halfway through trying to tie a Diggory scarf around his neck when he begrudgingly surrendered his neck as though it pained him. He refused to have anything else put on him, though.

When I asked what he had against Hufflepuff Pride he gave me the same look he did that made him look like he was judging me. I surmised he was a Potter fan and made sure to never let him get a hold of any red and gold clothing items, as he had a penchant for stealing my scarf and gloves. 

The day of the third task dawned bright and early and the Hufflepuff common room was abuzz with energy. There was so much illicit food and beverages overflowing on the tables I wasn’t surprised when nobody went down for breakfast. 

Justin and Ernie had a competition on who could eat the most biscuits that ended with Justin gagging in the bathroom while Ernie sat still eating biscuits, unbothered. Susan and I shared disgusted eye rolls but Hannah and I traded a secret smile over it. Sometimes, Susan could be a little prim. 

By the end of the party, though, Susan had deigned to drink some Butterbeer and even before noon! I’d say she loosened up pretty well by that alone, and that’s excluding her choice to curse for the day. She said she was getting prepared to scream for the third task and knew that if she’d be cursing then, she might as well make the most of it and curse now. 

Wayne and Ernie were the only ones to drink any Firewhiskey. After spending close to fifteen minutes convincing a sixth year that they could handle it, they finally got two small glasses and were determined to make them last.

I did wonder why alcohol was even being served at the breakfast party in the first place, but it was good fun, either way. 

When Cedric, himself, came down into the common room, the room’s steady chatter turned into a horrendous roar. Many of the upper years had went on a bender the night before and were waking up late, and I could only hope that Cedric wasn’t stupid enough to do the same. When he did show his annoyingly handsome face, he was flushed with excitement and looked perfectly healthy – excluding the fact that he didn’t have a trace of nerves on his face and that seemed exceedingly unfair.

All in all, we were ready for a great afternoon and we’re hoping beyond hope that our champion would win. 

***

We made it to the pitch that afternoon in high spirits and left with our stomach in our throats. Even knowing that it was a dangerous tournament did not prepare me for hearing and seeing such a horrendous thing. When the broken sobs of Amos Diggory reached the stands, I was only one of hundreds who cried in grief.

When Cedric Diggory’s body was laid to rest, I saw Paddy out of the corner of my eye. He was sitting by the forest beside the pavilion at the funeral hanging his head loosely. He walked away into the trees, his tail hanging limp between his legs. 

I never saw him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if many people remember this, but Sirius camped out in a cave for most of the fourth year, once he heard about the tournament. If he was risking himself by being that close to the school, I could only assume Evie "I have no regards for my own safety and mortality" Gardner would go into the forest for him.


	7. Fantastical Conclusions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Good old-fashioned governmental incompetence and realizing you helped save a war heroes life. An average day to read a will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will readings in our world never quite go like this, but I'm willing to bet they're like this in the magical world, at least somewhat. Evie's in for a shock!

**4 years later**

A loud tap from the window startled me from my morning tea and I rose to let the post owl in. When I opened the window, the bird swooped over my dining table, dropping the Daily Prophet and landing in expectation of his payment. I gave him his five knuts and a bit of a biscuit before he flew off in a mess of feathers and beak.

Unrolling the paper absentmindedly, I sipped at my tea before choking on it in surprise. Blared on the top in the bold letters of a headline was the most terrifyingly surreal news I’d ever seen.

**SIRIUS BLACK, INNOCENT?**

_Previously thought to be a mass murderer, Sirius Black was cleared on all accounts yesterday at the findings of new evidence brought forth from war heroes Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Arthur Weasley, and many others. The ministry has issued an apology on Black’s behalf for what is being called an “extreme miscarriage of justice” by those who knew him._

_New evidence and testimonies suggests that it was not Black who sold out the Potters that fateful night in Godric’s Hollow, but Peter Pettigrew who was initiated as the Potter’s Secret Keeper a few nights before. Black followed Pettigrew after he found James Potter and Lily Potter née Evan’s dead in their home. The altercation that followed would allow Pettigrew to frame Black for both the murders of the muggle bystanders and the betrayal of his best friend’s. Pettigrew then went into hiding as an unregistered animagus in the Weasley household as their pet rat, eluding custody for years while Black rotted away in Azkaban._

_Sadly, in his grief, the ministry confused Black’s famous screams of “He’s not dead” to be that of a fanatic dark wizard mourning Voldemort when he was actually referencing the traitor Pettigrew. We at the Prophet are left wondering why the Black heir was not given a trial as so many others. The ministry claims that it was acting out of fear when they threw Black into Azkaban without a trial but, we at the Prophet notice that Black was one of only a handful that received no trial. By breaking many laws regarding due process and obstruction of justice, we must ask, did someone in the ministry want this to happen?_

_While the ministry struggles to find some sort of compensation for their folly, Harry Potter claims that any reimbursement or apology will be too little, too late. He states he cleared Black’s name so people would remember as the hero he was. Various reports state that Sirius Black died protecting his godson, Harry Potter, and various Hogwarts’ students from Death Eaters at the Battle of the Department of Mysteries._

_The Boy-Who-Lived refuses any more questions on the matter, only stating “He was a hero and you’d do well to remember it. There is nothing the ministry could do that would make up for what he’d been through.” After many years of misinformation, we can only hope that the ministry will back his claims rather than deny their fault in the matter. We at the Prophet wonder if any other convicted Death Eaters will be given trials they never received in order to counteract more misplaced arrests._

_The ministry has yet to issue a formal apology._

There was a mass of writhing anger in my stomach, burning at the injustice of it. For years we had scorned an innocent and had him on the run when he deserved freedom more than the rest of us. The man not only survived 12 years of Azkaban, but saved people’s lives afterwards. It was the picture of governmental incompetence.

I groaned, frustrated and confused. The article flipped my worldview on its head. It was akin to somebody barging in and _proving_ that Hitler was actually fighting for Jewish rights and Carl Lutz framed him for all these terrible deeds, and Hitler… well, he was a great guy, but Carl Lutz was the maniac. Which is _insane_. 

So yeah, it was a crazy thought.

But it was more than confusing, it was just, well, wrong. Life isn’t supposed to be that awful for good people. It was an injustice at the highest level, and Harry Potter was right: there was nothing the ministry could do that could make up for it.

Angry tears burned my eyes. The wizarding world was so messed up! 

It wouldn’t be nearly as bad if he hadn’t been kept with Dementors and was in inhumane conditions but he had. It wasn’t right even if he was a Death Eater. Torture was one of those things that just didn’t sit right with me, even if someone deserved it.

I suppose it might be because it makes the torturer just as bad, but I also felt that way because there was always something that felt inexplicably wrong about it. It was like a churning of uncomfortable anxiety eating away at my stomach. It could have been guilt or disgust or anger, but I could never quite name the feeling.

Either way, dementors needed to go.

I shook off the anger and allowed myself to feel a little grief for the man. It wasn’t as if I could mourn him (I hadn’t known him after all), but I did feel quite awful for his passing. I felt sorry for him, sorry that it ever happened and just quite upset that it even could happen.

Setting the paper down, I turned to find my journal to try to write a poem in his honor. 

It was the least I could do for a war hero like him.

It was only when I received a summons to Gringott’s for a formal reading of Sirius Black’s will that I began to reconsider my third and fourth year at Hogwarts with a little more scrutiny and a niggling idea came to the back of my head; unexamined and untouched, but still there waiting to be found.

***

Apparently, the will had already been read before the war’s end, but I had not been notified of my inclusion on it until the clearing of Black’s name. The will’s reading had been private and unofficial so this was more a formality than anything else. I was utterly confused at my involvement in the man’s life, but truly honored to be there if nothing else.

Walking in, I had assumed that Black’s will held many other Hogwarts students of Harry’s year as an act of charity, but I was surprised to see only big names present. There were hardly enough people to even consider that option and I was left tremendously confused. I felt conspicuous and flitted my eyes desperately to find someone I might have been acquainted with.

Quite suddenly, I became aware of Wayne sitting in an empty row staring at me with raised eyebrows. Ignoring the confusion at seeing him there as well, I rushed to sit beside him.

“What do you think we’re here for?” I asked, shifting nervously in my chair.

“I’ve got as much a clue as you do,” he said, looking more perplexed with each person coming in.

“Well, that’s no good,” I grumbled, following his gaze and recognizing that we did, indeed, seem to be in a room full of war heroes, “do you suppose that other Hogwarts students got them and just didn’t come?”

“Considering it’s just you and me, I’d say no. Unless we suddenly became the most proactive graduates of our class, wouldn’t you think at least Susan would’ve come?”

“Yeah,” I breathed out. We descended into an awkward silence as we waited anxiously for the start of the reading.

The reading of the will in the wizarding world was almost how one would expect it to go in the real world based on movies and other fictitious depictions of it. In the muggle world, there was actually no official reading with all the beneficiaries present and the executor with the will in front of him. But that was exactly what happened in the wizarding world. 

We were seated in a grand, circular room in Gringott’s with a goblin seated on a tall pulpit in the center. Benches lined the walls, facing the podium and rising along the wall like stairs, yet the top bench wasn’t even near the height of the top of the pulpit.

(Man, goblins and their power games.)

As the previous executioner, Albus Dumbledore, was dead, Gringott’s Bank instated a random goblin to take the position. 

The formalities were officious and boring and I watched as Harry Potter, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, and many others received formal statements of inheritance of various assets, objects, and heirlooms that I assumed they already had. The naming of the beneficiaries went slow and I was left wondering why my presence was even needed.

When my name was called, I was more confused than ever. Why on Earth would Sirius Black even know my name? It was absurd. I helped with the war efforts but that was after his death, I joined Dumbledore’s Army in the Battle of Hogwarts but so did so many others who were absent; I was hardly a special figure. I was just another muggleborn who went on the run and caused minor problems at the Final Battle. 

I was a forgotten name that nobody needed to even mention to the man.

But I still stood when my name was called to acknowledge my presence. The eyes of those in the room fell heavy on me and made me squirm under the attention. Some looked curious and intrigued, while others looked concerned and even hostile. I burned under the judgement.

I glanced to my left and saw Harry Potter stare straight at me with a smile like he knew something I didn’t.

(The git, couldn’t he help out a little?)

The goblin looked down at the will in his hand and read off, “To Evie Gardner I give my pet Hippogriff, Witherwings for I know she will take care of him as well as she took care of me.”

Me? Taking care of Sirius Black?! What was he talking – NO!? 

It couldn’t be!

Oh no, oh no, oh GOD no!

“Bloody hell?” I exclaimed quite loudly, looking almost accusingly at the goblin as if he could understand that that was a question meant to be ‘You’re not serious?’. Wayne let out a forced cough into his fist in the seat beside me.

(Ever the conversationalist Evie.)

The goblin just looked at me distastefully, clearing his throat before continuing.

“I also leave this letter as a means of explanation and communication as we never had before.”

The goblin levitated the letter towards me and I took it mutely before he continued droning on. The stares grew pointed and I almost wilted at the critical eyes.

Blinking away with either a very pale or a very red face – I didn’t quite know –I looked down at the simple envelope and almost gasped at the word even though I expected it.

Written across the front in a scrawling script was the words _From Paddy_.

It was only then that it became obvious just who that dog from the woods was and exactly what I’d done.

I’d helped Sirius Black.

I felt the prickling of tears wet my eyes, and before I realized what was even happening they slid down my face like a dam had been opened. Choking on the air it was easier to accept just how important that dog was to me. The sense of loss was heavy in my heart as I hiccupped in that room in Gringott’s. The eyes of strangers no longer made a difference to me.

The sharp coil of grief and guilt running through me made my stomach squirm with sorrow and my limbs feel numb and cold. It was as though everything that had ever gone wrong was staring straight at me, accusingly.

Both Paddy and Sirius Black were dead, and wasn’t that just as wrong as anything could be?

***

_Dear Evie Gardner,_

_I know this must come as a surprise but I write you as a man in great debt of your kindness. I must be honest and tell you that, at first, I had assumed you were a hallucination brought on by my years of exposure to the dementors, but it soon became clear you were very real._

_Of course, I do not expect you to remain as loyal as I to our fragile relationship between human and dog, but I know you will be loyal to your compassion. That is why, of all the people who I knew in life, you deserve Witherwings the most. I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that you will take care of him with the utmost care – the care that makes you who you are._

_The amount of effort you spent in nurturing me back to health was not only admirable, but life-saving in more than one way. Not only did you allow me physical survival, you helped maintain my sanity and nurtured my mental health however unknowingly it may have been._

_I write to you knowing that you deserve to know who that strange dog you met was. I only hope this letter is unnecessary and we can meet each other when my name is cleared and in a time of peace. If that is not the case, then I must say all I can here and hope that you can appreciate my written gratitude as much as if it were spoken._

_Witherwings is also an escaped convict. I’m not sure if you know or remember this incident as it may be many years after before you receive this, but Witherwings originally went by Buckbeak. In what was you third year, Buckbeak was provoked and attacked a student who then attempted to get him executed. My godson and his friends helped save his life along with my own and Witherwings and I escaped Hogwarts together._

_I think you have a thing for helping us criminals so I know you two will get along well._

_Writing to you as a friend,_

_Sirius Orion Black_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all folks! Hope you liked it! I've had this idea wriggling around for a while!


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